Gwendolyn, the War, and Rob
by llamasdontbite
Summary: So what if James had a grandma? What if said grandma lived near Lexington, Massachusetts? And what if she was out for vengeance? I wrote this in 7th grade, so in terms of writing quality it's not the greatest.. .oh well. It was fun!


**Gwendolyn, the War, and Rob**

Gwen crouched behind a bush staring longingly at the rows of rebel soldiers lined up on Lexington green. The sun glinted off the gun barrels into her eyes, but she didn't care. In the distance the drums of the British soldiers could be heard, growing steadily closer. From behind the bush Gwen could see the nervous but determined expressions on the rebel's faces. She would give anything to be out there with them, standing tall and fighting for her fellow colonist's rights as English citizens. The soldiers drew nearer. All of a sudden the British came around a bend in the road and stopped short when they saw the militia assembled.

A cry came from the British ranks, "Disperse, ye rebels!" The men didn't even flinch.

Gwen bit her lip in anticipation while she crouched in her hiding place.

A shot was fired seemingly from nowhere and the battle was begun. More shots were exchanged and men from both sides fell dead or injured. Gwen noticed one rebel in particular- a sturdy young man with red hair sticking out at odd angles. He cowered in the back, leveling his gun to fire, then apparently having second thoughts and lowering it again. He seemed so… apathetic. She wrinkled her nose, adding to the extensive collection of wrinkles she already possessed. _That young man should be grateful even to have the chance to fight. The least he could do is make himself useful!_

Before long the rebels were forced to retreat and the British soldiers marched on through. Gwen popped her back into place and laboriously pulled herself to her feet. _These old bones are such a hassle._ She sighed dejectedly, climbed into her parked cart, and drove off toward her farm half a mile outside the city limits. She resolved to carry her musket everywhere she went from now on, just in case there was another battle.

A few days later, when Gwen was in town having her hair cut, she heard yelling in the street.

"The British! They're coming back!"

As she dashed to her wagon where her gun was stored, she was an atrocious sight. Her grey hair billowed and tangled in the wind, and her eyes were lit up like those of a little child on Christmas morning. Pair that with her wrinkly, spotted complexion, and she looked about like a naked mole rat wearing a bird's nest on its head, which was so loaded with sugar it was due to have a heart attack any second. Now give that rat a gun which is bigger than said rat itself. Yikes.

The militia was beginning to gather in the trees down the road. They scattered themselves behind trees and bushes to ambush the British. Doris followed suit, taking care not to be recognized as the old woman she was. She would show these pudding-kneed city kids! Her pulse quickened as the sound of heavy boots marching filled her ears. Closer, closer…. closer…

The pounding of English drums added to the pounding blood in Rob's ears. As the marching feet tromped through Lexington green, he tried to convince himself that he was as confident as he had been told to look. _What am I even doing here?_ He asked himself._ I should just go back to the farm where I belong. No!_ He caught himself roughly. _Father would never forgive me if I ran away. He sent me here for a reason, and if I aim to please him, I had better at least try. _That settled it, as far as he was concerned.

"Disperse, ye rebels!" A shot startled Rob back into reality. The militia men around him were all shooting and yelling. Rob stepped to the back of the crowd where he could concentrate better.

A bullet ricocheted off of the barrel of his musket. He took a deep breath and leveled his gun to shoot. When he saw the oblivious soldier through the sights, he started to wonder whether this soldier who was about to die by his hand really was as bloodthirsty and cruel as all his neighbors had made out. He cocked his gun and his finger inched toward the trigger… He lowered his gun, suddenly overtaken by guilt. How could his family and friends be so convinced that taking lives was the right answer? Were the taxes imposed on the colonies by the king so unfair? What did it really matter if tea cost extra? If only everyone could just be content, there wouldn't have to be a war. Then again, he couldn't bear to think of facing his father and not being able to tell him that his rights were protected. He wished somebody more decisive could be in his place. He aimed his gun again, but again couldn't shoot. In his indecision, he chanced to glance toward a nearby bush which was moving suspiciously. Behind it he saw the figure of an old woman, watching with such intense and excited interest, she could have blended perfectly with the children.

The order to retreat came a few seconds later. As he retreated with the militia, Rob shot a glance over his shoulder toward the old lady's bush, but the marching force of the British blocked the bush and the lady from view

Gwen aimed her musket and fired. The kick almost knocked her flat on her back, but it didn't matter- the British were upon them. More shots rang out from behind trees and in ditches. The enemy soldiers, standing out in their bright red uniforms, fell over like dominoes, but still the drums kept beating and the men kept marching. Of course, the rebels plus Gwen kept shooting.

"Um, excuse me, Ma'm," a voice behind her could be heard above the usual fighting sounds, "But I can't let you stay here, it's not safe for a woman of your age to do something like this. You should leave it to us men to do the fightin'" It was the apathetic rebel Gwen had seen earlier.

"Safe fiddlesticks! Leave it to the men and nothing gets done! Just lookit you standin' there like a stupid cow while your fellows do the dirty work."

"But lady, why are you doing this?" the young man asked.

"Those soldiers trampled my poor grandma's rose garden, back in England. And you know what? They didn't even pay to replace it!" a spark of anger flared in her chest at the memory. Fire blazed in her eyes. "So our family fled the country, so we could grow a rose garden in peace. Unfortunately, my poor grandma didn't survive the journey. This, young man, is probably the only chance I'll have to avenge her."

A bullet wedged itself into a tree above the young man's head. The British were returning fire now. The young man hit the dirt and crawled to a clump of bushes. If he'd had a tail, it would have been between his legs. Gwen gave a war whoop and fired off some shots. While she reloaded, moving to another spot down the road, she watched the bush behind which the cowardly young man had disappeared. Nothing moved.

The gunshots gradually died away and the drumming and feeble marching faded into the distance. Rob stayed put. Hours later, at the sound of cheering and whooping, Rob crawled out from under his bush and joined the cluster of rebels marching home. As the cheers died away, the quavering voice of an old woman could be heard above the crowd:

_Yankee Doodle keep it up,_

_Yankee Doodle dandy_

_Mind the music and the step_

_And with the girls be handy…_

The crowd took up the song and sang it all the way back to the town. When the cheering city-folk came outside to welcome the victorious rebels, Rob watched as the remarkable old woman separated herself from the crowd of rebels and bystanders, to climb into her cart and headed home. Without recognition, without even acknowledgement, she went on her way.

"Grandma!" someone called. "What are you doing here?" Gwen stopped her cart and waved to a lanky young boy jogging toward her. He was almost the spitting image of Gwen, his disorderly blonde hair dancing in the breeze.

"James, darling!" Gwen helped the boy into the wagon. "It's been so long! How are things in Philadelphia?"

The two happily chatted their way down the road and out of sight.

_She's a grandmother! A normal, average oneIf only we were all so passionate,_ Rob thought wistfully, watching the retreating back of the cart. _This rebellion would already be won._


End file.
